


Pop

by swimmingfox



Series: Potential [10]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Babies, Bristol, Classical Music References, Curry sorts everything out, Dr Swimmingfox's Music Corner, Edd POV is BACK, F/M, First Time, Heartbreak, Hot!Robin, Illness, JOJAQ, Jojaq Horseman, Labour, London, M/M, Manchester, Meatballs, Missandedd, Modern AU, Nerves, OK that last one wasn't my idea, Pasta isn't bad either, Podrya, Potential forever!, Potential must always have puking, Potential will never die, Pregnancy, Shostakovich, Silly, Sorrow, Sushi, Sweet, Virginity, Wine, but it is so good, obviously, proposal, puking, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-09-28 12:43:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20426186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmingfox/pseuds/swimmingfox
Summary: Sansa is so heavily pregnant it's not even true! Arya's household is sick! Edd has an important question for Missy! Robin is hoping for a night to remember!A continuation of the Potential series, taking place over one night: ensemble cast, Modern AU, sweetness and silliness with a little heartbreak for good measure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missy1978](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy1978/gifts), [Aishario](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aishario/gifts), [Rootbeerislove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rootbeerislove/gifts).
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HULLO! Here's the next in the series. Short! Sweet! Devastating!
> 
> For Missy1978, plus recent new readers Aishario and Rootbeerislove. 
> 
> (PS I changed Alys' Karstark's first name spelling for FUN.)

**Arya & Missy**

ARYA:  
_Send help_

MISSY:  
_What’s wrong b?_

ARYA:  
_Literally in a house of hell rn_  
_Sick house_  
_Pod has norovirus_

MISSY:  
_Oh nooooo_

ARYA:  
_Spewing and other stuff_  
_JOY_

MISSY:  
_Ur gonna get it u know_

ARYA:  
_DONT SAY THAT_

MISSY:  
_Sorreeee_  
_(but its true)_

ARYA:  
_GOODBYE FAKE NEWS PERSON_

MISSY:  
_love u xxx_

***

**Edd**

‘Gross-out,’ said Missy, curled up like a cat on the sofa.

‘What’s that?’ said Edd.

She’d just got home from work and he’d brought her in a cup of peppermint tea. They always liked to chat about their day before one of them made some dinner.

‘Arya and fam have the Norovirus. You know, the puking diarrohea one.’ She sighed, propping her head on her hand and putting her phone down. ‘It’s so hideous.’

‘That’s bad luck.’ He sat down next to her and took a sip of his tea.

‘Yeah. She’s totally going to get it.’ She put a hand on his shoulder, her thumb stroking his upper arm. ‘You OK, babe?’

‘Yes,’ said Edd, as guilelessly as he could. ‘’Course.’

She was looking at him in that sexy, nurse-y way. ‘Not sick?’

‘Nope. I’m fine.’ But he wasn’t fine, because tonight was the night that he was going to ask her something, and he was so terrified that he could hardly think straight. 

***

**Sansa**

‘This had better work,’ said Sansa, picking up an onion bhaji. 

Two weeks overdue. Two bloody weeks, in a heatwave. This baby was clearly a cold-weather-loving sort and was refusing to move. She’d had two massages this week, gone on a long walk every other day, and still no dice. 

_WHERE IS MY NEPHEW OR NIECE FFS?_ Arya would text, every six hours or so.

‘Well, if it doesn’t,’ said Sandor, tearing apart a naan bread. ‘I’m up for curry every night ‘til this little bastard comes out.’

***

**Robin**

‘Right,’ said Robin. ‘Right.’

He had read Ivan a story and sung him one of his specially-composed lullabies until he had gone to sleep. He had washed up. Lit candles. Checked his playlist. Messaged his mum – Lysa and Thoros were away overnight at a silent meditation retreat in the Mendip Hills – to say everything was fine and that he would be going to bed soon himself, as he was rather tired.

This part was a total lie. Because Alice was coming over, and he was planned to be awake for a few more hours yet, because tonight was going to be special. 

His phone lit up.

ALICE:  
_Am on the bus x_

‘Right,’ he said.

***

**Arya & Jojen**

JJ:  
_YO_  
_Ur NYC bitch has arrived_  
_Just coming into Temple Meads_  
_Get the party started_

Arrrrrya:  
_Cannot see u soz_

JJ:  
_Whaa?_  
_But your godfather JJ is here_  
_I have brought gifs_  
_*gifts_

_Arrrrrya:_  
_Pod has norovirus or some shit_  
_emphasis on the shit_  
_and now Aoifes looking pretty bad too_

_JJ:  
_HMMMMM__

_Arrrrrya:  
I mean come if u want to puke your guts out_

JJ:  
_Tempting_

Arrrrrya:  
_And shit your guts out_

JJ:  
_Thought-provoking_

Arrrrrya:  
_Or maybe both at once_

JJ:  
_I may give it a few days_  
_Maybe I will give my fuck guru a call_

Arrrrrya:  
_Jfc_  
_tell me that’s not who I think it is_

JJ:  
_I could if u want me to lie_

Arrrrrya:  
_Arrghghghgh_

JJ:  
_Jaqen shows me parts of myself I didn’t know existed_  
_Quite literally sometimes_  
_He’s like my UK sex spa_  
_except he’s Brazilian of course_  
_maybe he’ll give me a Brazilian_  
_I’m down with that tbh_

Arrrrrya:  
_im going to clean up sick now_

JJ:  
_I’m going to have a sex tutorial and then eat well expensive sushi_

Arrrrrya:  
_fuck u bitch_

***

**Edd**

‘Can I ask you a question?’ he said.

‘’Course you can,’ Missy snuggled into him on the sofa. ‘You don’t have to ask. Thought we’d got past the polite stage.’

This was it. He’d never felt more doom-laden than in this precise moment. Not even before his leg had been blown off. He’d been trained to be calm, level, keenly assessing of a situation. But right now his stomach was essentially a slab of butter that had been left out in the sun all afternoon.

‘You can say no,’ he said.

She stretched, the weight of her gently pressing against his chest. ‘I don’t know what it is yet.’

His insides were glued together. It was everything he had ever wanted. _She_ was everything he had ever wanted. Ever since Sandor had put the idea in his head a few months ago at Arya's wedding, he'd thought of little else.

‘So?’ she said, putting her feet up on the table. 'What did you want to ask me?'

A five-second pause. ‘Are you hungry?’ he heard himself say. Felt his insides sag.

She looked at him slightly quizzically, before giving him one of her soft, heartbreaking smiles and kissing him on the cheek. ‘You know me, _habibi_. I’m always hungry.’

***

**Robin**

‘Wow,’ said Alice, standing in the living room. ‘You really made an effort.’

His girlfriend of three and a half months was standing in the middle of the living room, looking like a beautiful weeping willow tree.

‘Thanks,’ said Robin.

Once Wylla had pointed out Alice’s glares at Arya and Pod’s wedding, Robin had turned his careful attention in her direction. He watched her in the canteen or heading to the music block with Lyanna and Erena for Bear Island rehearsals. He’d just happen to rehearse in the room next door, and just happen to pack up at the same time, and just happen to loiter at her bus stop (even though the bus would take him to the wrong end of Bristol). 

For a while, he was convinced that Wylla must have got it wrong. Alice seemed to look anywhere but him. But on the one time he finally managed to engage her in conversation (heavy metal bass players, which he’d researched extensively), she appeared, astonishingly, to be blushing.

‘I like the outfit,’ Alice said, her hands folded in front of her.

‘Oh, this old thing,’ Robin said, trying to sound nonchalant, despite the fact that his deep red velvet smoking jacket had cost him £65 in Traid. ‘You look really beautiful. As always.’

Alice blushed, as she did quite frequently, and looked at the floor. 

She was a glorious mixture of cool, composed and incredibly shy. She not only liked playing bass, but Romantic chamber music, vegan pizza, immersive theatre and classic horror films, and therefore was actually his Dream Woman.

Now she was here, because Robin had told her very meaningfully that his mum and step-dad would be away, which would be the first time that they were alone in a house without parents for a whole night, and being alone in a house without parents for a whole night (if you ignored the small, slumbering half-brother), definitely only meant one thing.

***

**Sandor**

Sansa had gone to run a bath, grumbling and walking as slowly as an old woman. 

She was a bloody hero. It was incredible, the size she was now, the faintly marbled skin of her belly. He was beginning to wonder if this baby had got an inkling of the state of the world and had decided it was better off staying put.

‘Sandor,’ called Sansa.

Bowie raised his head, eyebrows shrugged up, and lowered it again when he realised there was no walk happening. 

‘Aye, coming,’ Sandor said, getting up and turning the TV off. Sansa needed a hell of a lot of help moving around now. Like steering a barge.

He stopped when he got to the bathroom. The taps were still running, and Sansa was standing, dressed, looking at a patch of water on the floor. Sandor glanced at the bath, wondering where the leak was. It was supposed to be bloody new, this flat.

‘Sandor,’ said Sansa again, and he heard the slight waver in her voice. The wonder, and the fear.

He looked at the patch of water by her feet again.

***

**Robin**

‘Would you like a drink?’ Every word Robin said seemed, to him at least, to be imbued with heavy, sultry meaning.

‘Yes please,’ Alice said. Blushed. 

He did feel rather nervous now. Flighty. ‘Wait there. I mean, wait there, my sweet.’ 

He kissed her on the cheek and dashed to the kitchen and brought back the red wine he’d bought from Sainsbury’s (after asking a shop worker there which wine would best help with seducing a dearly beloved for the first time, causing said shop worker to roll his eyes and point to the nearest bottle).

‘Wine,’ he said, unnecessarily, showing her the bottle. His heart was working at the same tempo of the woodblock in John Adams’ _Short Ride in a Fast Machine_.

She smiled, a small, inescapably beautiful thing, like everything else about her. 

Alice’s mouth was really perfect. She had a Pre-Raphaelite air, he’d told her, after the first time they’d kissed. She must have travelled back in time and been painted by Millais, he’d said, during the second time they kissed, and she’d smiled then and said _thank you_ and not laughed at him or told him he was a pretentious dickwad, like other girls did.

‘Music, I think!’ Robin said, a little too loudly. 

He pressed play on his phone. _Death and the Maiden_ might have seemed like an odd choice for an evening of seduction, but he and Alice had been to a concert at Colston Hall to hear it, and held hands. Alice had said she liked music about death, and Robin had made her a YouTube playlist of melancholy death-based classical music, and she had told him he was very romantic.

Alice glanced at the speakers. Back at him. Smiled. 

It was a bit hard to always know what Alice was thinking. She was so very poised and marvellous, and would happily listen to Robin rattling on about David Bowie’s legacy, gently picking a hair off his shoulder or drinking her soy mochaccinos, but she didn’t always say a lot.

What if she didn’t want to? He was fairly sure that Alice, like himself, was as yet unflowered. But maybe his delicate, hopeful hints had not been enough. _Well, Robin_, he told himself, _if she doesn’t want to, you’ll still have a very enjoyable evening listening to Schubert’s syphilitic-induced masterpiece and drinking Rioja with your incredibly amazing girlfriend_. 

He put the glasses on the coffee table. Looked at the wine again. ‘It’s a screw top,’ he said. Blushed.

Alice seemed to register the blush, and somehow, the air in the room changed. She gently took the bottle from him and stood in front of him. ‘Shall we just go upstairs?’ 

Robin gazed at her. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Let’s do that.’

***

**Sandor & Arya**

Sandor:  
_Hi_  
_Just to let you know, Sansa’s gone into labour_

Arya:  
_WHAT OMG_  
_Holy fuck_  
_Is she ok_  
_????_

Sandor:  
_Think so_  
_We’re at St Mary’s_  
_Your mum’s on her way_

Arya:  
_OMG I want to be there but pod and aoife are really sick_

Sandor:  
_Bad luck_

Arya:  
_Give her a kiss from me pls_  
_Tell her she is a badass queen and she is going to slay this like a fucking boss_

Sandor:  
_OK_

Arya:  
_Have u? those exact words?_

Sandor:  
_Have now x_

Arya:  
_xxxx_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, lovely Potential-lers. Your comments give me joy.
> 
> **DR SWIMMINGFOX'S MUSIC CORNER:**
> 
> [Short Ride in a Fast Machine by John Adams!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5LoUm_r7It8)
> 
> [Death and the Maiden by Schubert!](https://youtu.be/otdayisyIiM)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your lovely comments! SLIGHT WARNING: this chapter mostly contains sex, but also some SORROW.

**Edd**

‘Here you are, sir,’ said the waiter, placing the meatballs in front of him. ‘And for the lady.’ At this point the waiter raised one eyebrow and leant in a lot closer to Missy than to Edd.

Their favourite restaurant, since being together in London. They came to the Italian institution every couple of weeks, for fresh pasta and olives as big as eyeballs.

‘Thank you,’ said Missy to the waiter, oblivious. She looked from her huge dish to Edd, raising her eyebrows. ‘I really love mussels.’

One of their daft jokes. She loved her seafood, and she loved saying that and then squeezing Edd’s upper arms, which were still alright, seeing as he did exercises most morning.

They’d lived together for eight months now. Missy had come back from her various Middle East posts, saying that she wanted a bit of London life again, and London life with him, so down he came. It had been long enough with his folks on the farm. 

‘Sir?’

The waiter was still here, with his oversized phallic pepper mill. Next to them was a red-faced gang of city banker-types, shoving massive chunks of parmesan into their gobs and talking loudly.

Focus. ‘Yes, please,’ he said, and watched the pepper grounds fall, like his hopes and dreams.

What had he been thinking? This wasn’t the place. People would look. The especially cheerful waiter would leap to the white grand piano in the corner and start bellowing some operatic song and everyone would applaud. Except, of course, that they wouldn’t, because there was no way this was going to happen.

He did his best to smile at Missy, and twisted spaghetti round his fork.

***

**Jojen**

Christ, he was knackered. These transatlantic flights were fuckers. But he’d promised his folks to come back every few months or so, and they were helping pay for the pleasure, 

At this precise moment, they were helping pay for the pleasure of a booty call. Fuck it. He’d had enough heartbreak last year. He was definitely allowed.

The lift hummed to a demure halt at the top floor, and Jojen sloped out into the corridor. Rang the buzzer and leant against the chrome wall.

The sound of a very Zen man’s feet, padding lightly down the hallway. 

The door opened. Jaqen was wearing a dark purple silk robe. Of course he was.

‘Evening,’ said Jojen, still leaning. Gave him a sly grin. 

***

**Sansa**

‘Just remember your breathing,’ said Sandor.

‘Mmm-hmm,’ Sansa said, standing by the bed, eyes closed. She’d learnt some deep relaxation techniques in the maternity classes and now her mind was flying around like a trapped bird. She felt hot, and she felt terrified.

Here it came again. The tight, all-consuming grip of a contraction. Everything twisting. She groaned into it, tight-lipped, trying to think of Arya’s words communicated via Sandor. _Slay it like a boss. Slay it like a boss._

The contractions were getting closer together now. When they’d arrived, the midwife had decided she was indeed in active labour (‘no shit,’ Sandor had said) and moved them to the labour ward. There was the few seconds of sweet release after each one, before the deep dread of the next.

‘I’m right here,’ said Sandor, who was holding her hand.

‘Mmm,’ said Sansa, feeling her crotch flood again. The waters had kept coming. She’d already gone through three massive pads. How had she not known that would happen?

‘Do you want to get up again?’ he said.

The midwife, an assured Liverpudlian woman, had said she’d be back in again soon. She said the contractions would last as long as they lasted, which wasn’t the slightest bit helpful.

‘Sansa?’ Sandor was saying. ‘Do you want to move around again, like she said?’

She felt like she needed the toilet. But probably that was the baby. She couldn’t even tell. ‘I don’t really want to do any of it,’ she whispered. 

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’d do it for you if I could. But, you know –’ he got her to look at him and gave her a soft smile. ‘Better out then in.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘You’ll be grand.’

***

**Robin**

‘May I take this off?’

‘Yes.’

‘May I take this off?’

‘Yes.’

‘May I take this off?’

‘Robin?’ Alice was standing by his bed in her long skirt and bra, her long pale arms by her sides, looking like the goddess of everything.

‘Yes?’ Robin had just about managed the courage to remove his smoking jacket. The soprano was solemnly lamenting in Gorecki’s Symphony of Sorrowful Songs on his playlist. He’d drunk one and a half glasses of wine and was feeling very light-headed.

Alice gave a gentle, nervous smile. ‘You can just assume that I will say yes every time you ask.’

***

**Arya & Yrgritte**

ARYA:  
_Can I have ur advice pls_

YGRITTE:  
_On what?_

ARYA:  
_Health question_

YGRITTE:  
_I’m not on the fuckin clock now mate_  
_the uniform is definitely OFF_

ARYA:  
_Pleeeeeeeeease_

YGRITTE:  
_ffs_  
_go on then_

ARYA:  
_Pod and Aoife have norovirus I think_  
_Am I gonna get it_

YGRITTE:  
_Ah bad luck luv_  
_Probably_

ARYA:  
_Bollox_

YGRITTE:  
_Disinfect the lav, wash ur hands and don’t kiss em and you might be alright_  
_otherwise shit tons of water, crisps, replace your salts_  
_itll pass_  
_hang tough_

ARYA:  
_Ok ta_

YGRITTE:  
_That’ll be 50 quid_

ARYA:  
_Ha_

YGRITTE:  
_What am I saying that’s a fucking day’s wages_

ARYA:  
_Where u at?_

YGRITTE:  
_Poker game with Tyrion _

ARYA:  
_Ha no shit_  
_U guys still seeing each other?_

YGRITTE:  
_On & off_  
_He’s a good laugh_  
_Sound lad_  
_Good poker face_  
_Good face in general tbh_  
_& the rest of him_  
_small but perfectly formed if u know what I mean_

ARYA:  
_TMI am trying not to puke thanks_  
_good luck with the poker_

YGRITTE  
_Ta luv_  
_thinking about taking it up a notch_  
_making it strip poker_

ARYA:  
_haaaa SEND PICS_

YGRITTE:  
_you’ve seen it all before_

ARYA:  
_PS Sansas gone into labour_

YGRITTE:  
_ahh fab_  
_bet sandors fucking crapping his pants_  
_like you’re about to do_  
_haha_

ARYA:  
_fuck u_

YGRITTE:  
_Later barf-face_  
_X_

***

**Edd**

‘Mmm, that was so fine,’ said Missy, her arm in his, as they emerged from the restaurant. ‘It’s nice that you’re so spur of the moment sometimes. We don’t normally do dinner on a Monday night.’ She pulled Edd round to face her, and kissed him, a sweet, slow, perfect ‘Kissy’ (her coinage, not his).

‘I aim to surprise,’ said Edd. He looked down the street. There was no one here. Maybe he could –

‘You know what’s going to happen when we get home,’ she said, in the sort of purr that made him go weak at the knees – or at least, the knee.

‘I can take a wild guess,’ Edd said, because Missy always seemed to get aroused by Italian food. 

‘Come,’ she said, and took him masterfully by the hand.

***

**Sandor**

It didn’t feel real, any of this. The hospital bed, with its lights dimmed. The electric fan buzzing. And the sight of Sansa leaning on the birthing ball, holding onto it for dear life.

He’d given up trying to talk to her. She seemed completely consumed by her own body, the contractions thick and fast already. She was a hero, a warrior in battle with herself and the baby, and he felt such fierce love for her and he felt totally fucking useless.

‘My arm hurts,’ she said. The IV was hanging from her inner arm. Strands of her hair stuck damply to her pale forehead.

‘I’m sorry, firecracker.’

She was almost fully dilated already. It was going to be a quick one, the midwife had said.

‘Where’s Mum?’ said Sansa, in a tiny, faraway voice.

He’d checked his phone not long ago. ‘Traffic,’ he said. 

A tiny, hopeless whimper from her.

‘She’ll be here really soon,’ he said, picking up her water bottle and straw again. ‘I promise.’

***

**Robin**

Alice was lying back on the bed now and Robin's head was between her legs. The first movement of Shostakovich’s String Quartet no. 8 was mournfully emanating from his speakers.

‘Please will you tell me if I’m doing it OK?’ he said.

‘I’m not sure if I’ll know,’ she said, from further up.

‘Oh.’ He was still propped up on his elbows. ‘But . . . will you tell me if it’s alright? I really want it to be nice for you.’

She gazed at him. Smiled. ‘OK.’

He wasn’t really sure, but she did, very shyly, tell him he was a bit too high up before lying there, not moving, and Robin prayed very hard to the sex gods for him not to be a complete disaster.

Then Alice made a sound, a sound he’d not heard her make before, a sort of un-worded question and answer, and made it again, and kept making those noises so that one part of Robin’s brain thought, _I really must compose a wordless piece for soprano that is exactly like this and conveys the ambiguities of sexual pleasure_ and the other part thought _SHUT UP ROBIN AND CONCENTRATE_ and concentrate once more he did.

Things got rather hot, in temperature and also sexiness, and Robin wasn’t entirely sure if she’d had an orgasm or not but he knew that he accidentally had, in his pants, but he’d try and keep that to himself.

Eventually, Robin came up and lay next to Alice, marvelling at the languid lines of her naked form, the flush on her cheeks, the moistness between her two completely perfect and amazing breasts, and thought _wow_ about fifty times in his head. ‘You look like Ophelia,’ he said, a little deliriously.

She turned her head to him. Her eyes were almond-shaped. ‘Dead or alive Ophelia?’

Oh God. He’d said it now, and she knew what he meant, because he’d already mentioned Millais before. And now he was going to sound like a sick necrophiliac who only liked having sex with pale, flower-picking suicidal girls. 

‘Dead?’ he said. Held his breath.

‘Perfect,’ she said.

***

**Arya, Sansa, Sandor, Mum**

_Arya_  
_WHAT IS HAPPENINNNNNNGG_  
_Someone tell me pls_  
_argh_

***

**Jojen**

‘Mmm,’ he said.

‘Hmm?’ said Jaqen, next to him, lightly stroking his chest.

‘Mmm,’ said Jojen, who was currently incapable of saying anything else.

‘Hmm,’ said Jaqen, with a devastatingly demure smile.

***

**Edd**

‘Oh my days,’ said Missy, with her arms on his shoulders.

They were on the chair in the bedroom. It had taken a while, after his injury, for them to work out what sort of positions were best. He didn’t like the leg being on, unless it was impromptu – it wasn’t right, somehow. They were often on their sides, and he did love lying behind Missy, holding her waist, but this seemed to be their favourite position. They’d bought a chair in a cheap antiques place for the very purpose (Missy sitting on it in the shop and looking at him lasciviously was enough for him to get his wallet out).

‘Oh, _caro_,’ said Missy, her mouth next to his ear.

She’d kept her bra and pants on tonight, which seemed to turn them both on even more (even if the pants, dragged to one side, were chafing a little). He gripped her hips and looked at this impossibly beautiful woman, moving on top of him. 

‘Oh, _polpetto_.’ He was fairly sure that meant _meatball_ but he wasn’t going to kick up a fuss now.

Edd loved how she took control sometimes, how he could just sit, holding her hips and marvelling at her, sculpted from bone and curve and honey-coloured skin, feel her sliding over him. Her closed-eye frown as she concentrated, determined to get absolutely the perfect angle for herself. Those bookend eyebrows.

‘_Sei così caldo e bello_,’ she said, beginning to move faster. She was energetic tonight. She'd had a lot of pasta. 

After this. He would ask her after this. 

***

**Sansa**

Sandor took her hand. ‘You’re amazing. You’re doing so well. You’re my fucking hero.’

‘Go away,’ said Sansa, pulling away from him, her other fist gripping the bedsheets. ‘Go _away_.’ 

‘Nope,’ he said, and took her hand again.

She felt a sudden surge of anger, for his presumption, and flung his hand away. Burst into tears. ‘I want my dad,’ she said, feeling the tears roll down her face. ‘I want my _dad_. I don’t want anyone else.’

‘I know,’ Sandor said. ‘I know you do.’

***

**Robin**

Robin was on top of Alice, her long legs curled round him, and an especially weird bit of George Crumb’s string quartet masterwork Black Angels was playing.

‘I think maybe I should turn it off,’ he said, suddenly wishing that something more conventionally romantic, like One Direction or Barry White, was on his playlist.

‘I like it,’ said Alice, quite quietly.

‘Am I – does it hurt?’

Alice shook her head. There was a flush of red high on both cheeks. ‘I like that, too.’

‘OK,’ said Robin, feeling various parts of him swell. ‘Wow.’

He tried to memorise every single sensation of himself inside her, whilst feeling like he was outside his body looking down on himself, meaning he was looking at his own bum, and he thought _STOP THINKING, ROBIN_ and at that moment the door creaked open and his little brother Ivan’s head peeked in.

‘Agh,’ said Robin, and tried to lift himself from Alice and frantically pull the sheet up at the same time, and promptly fell off the bed.

***

**Sandor**

It had been the toughest time for her. For all of them. To find out – once Arya, Pod and Aoife came back from their honeymoon in Portugal – that Ned had months to live. Sandor had kept schtum, deciding it was best to wait until Cat saw fit to tell them.

Lung cancer. Stage 4. Ned had gone for a fairly routine check and come out with a death sentence. He and Cat had only told Robb and waited three whole months to tell everyone else, worried that it might affect the wedding, affect Sansa’s pregnancy. 

Sansa had to go on as their baby grew, knowing that he was going to die. Her bloody _dad_.

_It might not be true_, Sansa would say. _They might have got it wrong. People do come out of this sometimes._ Sandor would never contradict her, but she’d get angry anyway, shout at him, tell him he was wrong.

It had happened so fucking quickly. Ned had degenerated fast, spent most of his time in hospital, coming home to be cared for by a stoic Cat and a visiting nurse. Sandor and Sansa had come down to Bristol for the last couple of weeks, taken it in turns with everyone else to be by his bedside, watched his skin fade and turn to paper. 

Ned always had a smile, no matter how weak he was. ‘You’ll look after her,’ he’d said to Sandor on that second last time, not really seeing that Sansa was still in the room. The lines deep on his face, the words effortful.

‘I will,’ Sandor had said. ‘I will.’

Now, he watched as Sansa cried through her labour, the strongest, most heartbroken woman in the fucking world. 'I want my dad,' she sobbed again.

He did the only thing he could, and took her hand again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB _Polpetto_ is a term of endearment in Italian, and though it does indeed mean meatball, is not derogatory! _Sei così caldo e bello_ hopefully means 'You're so hot and beautiful' but Italian speakers, please correct me if I'm wrong, haha.
> 
> **DR SWIMMINGFOX'S CLASSICAL MUSIC CORNER**
> 
> [Gorecki's Symphony No. 3, or Symphony of Sorrowful Songs!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=87DJF1_vwQA)
> 
> [Shostakovich's String Quartet no. 8 in C minor, aka my fave string quartet!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tby5aMrMu6Q&t=316s)
> 
> [George Crumb's terrifying string quartet Black Angels!](https://youtu.be/vXvAs5aGkG4)


	3. Chapter 3

**Edd**

‘Mmm,’ said Missy, coming back from the bathroom and sliding in beside him, her skin still hot. ‘I love having sex with you.’ 

‘Me too,’ he said, and put his arm out for her to snuggle in next to him. Right. This was it. ‘Missy,’ he said, his heart in his mouth.

Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. ‘Hang on,’ she said, rolling over to pick it up. ‘Oh my days,’ she said, and put a hand to her chest. ‘Bombshell. Sansa’s in labour.’

‘Oh. OK,’ said Edd, trying to remember the real world and thinking of his mate Sandor, doubtless right by his wife’s side, metaphorically shitting himself. ‘So, Missy, I –’

‘One sec, babe,’ said Missy, beginning to type on her phone. ‘Just texting Arya back. Solidarity, you know.’

‘OK,’ said Edd, wondering if this was ever going to happen.

***

**Robin**

‘Wanna go Robin’s bed,’ said Ivan.

Usually, Ivan would be asleep by the second song from Robin’s Midnight Lullaby Suite for Ivan, but today, his little half-brother was not having it.

‘Robin’s bed,’ Ivan said again, his chubby fists clenched.

‘No, Ivan,’ said Robin. ‘You really can’t.’ He strummed a ukelele chord. ‘Please go to sleep.’ _So that I can finish making actual literal love to my astonishingly serene and beautiful girlfriend_, he thought, wondering how much Ivan had seen and how much he would unintelligibly blurt to their mother.

‘Robin’s bed with lady,’ said Ivan.

_Curses_, thought Robin.

There was a soft knock on the door. Alice opened it, wearing Robin’s dressing gown.

‘Lady,’ said Ivan, looking up at her, wide-eyed.

‘Yes,’ said Robin, wondering how he could bribe Ivan into not saying a word. He hadn’t even told Lysa he had a girlfriend, because historically all mention of girls caused a very messy, emotional scene. ‘Lady Alice.’ He played another ukelele chord and began singing.

‘Hello,’ she whispered to Ivan, before sitting gracefully down next to Robin, tucking her knees up and resting her chin on them. As Robin performed the third song from his suite (in the Lydian mode, for added plangency), she began humming a second line over the top.

Ivan lay down with a content little sigh.

Alice’s hummed harmony was note-perfect. _I am completely in love with you_, Robin thought.

His little brother closed his eyes.

***

**Sansa**

‘Just keep pushing, Sansa,’ said the midwife, who felt a thousand miles away.

She was exhausted. She felt like she had run a marathon already. She’d been given an epidural. Her mouth was so dry. 

_Pushing_. It seemed ludicrous that her baby could possibly come out of her. It wasn’t going to happen. It was impossible. This was impossible. She wanted to be sick.

‘I’m right here,’ said Sandor, from a distant planet.

Sansa shut her eyes again, disappeared from everything. 

***

**Jojen**

Jesus Christ, he’d forgotten how completely delightful it was being fucked by Jaqen. And dining with him was pretty good, too.

Any other man would have gone to Wasabi’s. But Jaqen had paid for a sushi chef to literally come to the flat earlier and make octopus and eel nigiri, and now they were naked in bed at 1am, eating it. There was something shockingly sexy about raw seafood and Egyptian cotton sheets.

Jaqen was watching him. He seemed to rather like watching Jojen. ‘Good?’ he said.

Jojen nodded. ‘Sick. Not literally.’

‘How is your work?’

‘It continues.’ Jojen looked at him. He’d been slowly dabbling at a big multi-media piece. Sculpture, photography, video. It had taken him over a year to start getting his art-act together again. Actually, since shagging Jaqen after Arya's wedding. ‘I’m fiddling around with something.’ He shrugged.

‘Mmm-hmm?’

‘Yeah. To do with philosophical truth. And interconnectedness.’ He glanced over. ‘It’ll probably be shit.’ 

‘It will be wonderful,’ said Jaqen. ‘I have a few people I could put you in touch with. Small London galleries.’

‘Oh,’ said Jojen. ‘Wow. That would be amazing. But –’ his confidence had been completely shot, since Bran. 

Jaqen lightly dabbed his finger into the little dish of soy sauce and put it to Jojen’s lips. ‘But nothing,’ he said.

***

**Edd**

It was late, and he was still wide-awake. Everything was quiet – or as quiet as it would be, with East London outside. Their bedside light was still on. Missy’s leg was hooked over his waist, hand on his chest. Sometimes they fell asleep like this, though he’d usually have to move her off him as gently as he could so as not to wake her.

‘Missy,’ he said. He was going to do this.

‘Mmm,’ she said. Shifted a little.

The clock ticked. Tocked.

He swallowed. ‘I just want you to know,’ he said. ‘I know that a lot of this has been long-distance and we’ve only just started living together, really. I mean, it hasn’t been long –’

‘Hmm?’ She moved again, a tiny, soft stretch, and put her chin on his chest to look up at him. 

_Do it, for fuck’s sake_, a small, bold part of his brain declared. _Spit it out_. Shite, he’d left the ring in his coat pocket. Sod it. ‘Don’t feel under any pressure,’ he said. ‘That’s the last thing I’d want.’

Next to them, Missy’s phone buzzed again, vibrating itself further away from their heads on the bedside table. ‘Ooo,’ she said, rolling over, and reaching for it.

Edd leant over her, got to it before she did, and dropped it on the floor. She looked slightly astonished. 

‘Sorry,’ he said. Sat up. ‘Sorry. That was – I didn’t mean to do that.’

‘What’s wrong?’ she said, her eyes wide with worry. ‘Something’s really wrong, I feel it. It’s been a bit strange all night.’ God, she looked so beautiful without make-up on. Stunningly, bone-breakingly beautiful.

‘Missy,’ he said. ‘There’s no reason why you’d say yes, but –’ a deep, brave, soldierly breath. ‘Would you like . . . I wondered if you’d like to marry me.’

Missy sat up. ‘Seriously?’ Her voice a beautiful, gossamer whisper.

‘Not if you don’t want it to be serious,’ he said, talking himself down again. ‘It’s fine. It’s perfectly fine how it is. More than fine. Forget I asked.’

‘But. . .’ she pulled the duvet up to her chest and frowned, the line deepening between her eyes as if drawn in wet sand. 

_But._ Of course. Here it was. Edd steeled himself for the inevitable. At least he’d asked. If he hadn’t asked he’d never have known.

She was looking at her palms. Back at him. ‘Are you sure you want me?’

A small moment, in which a car revved past outside. ‘Am _I_ sure?’ he said, feeling delicately baffled.

‘Yeah. I mean –’ she shook her head, just once, and he remembered that she could be fragile, too. ‘You know, I’ve been getting so anxious lately, with my meltdowns and everything.’ 

There’d been only two things he could vaguely class as meltdowns, with Missy calling him trembling and crying from a toilet somewhere, struggling with the pressure of her high-profile translator posts. He’d had to talk her down to normality, the same skills he’d had to use a few times on terrified grunts in the Middle East. They’d gone to the doctor’s and now she was on a waiting list for a therapist and had been to a couple of anxiety workshops. But from the way she was clutching her elbows now, it had affected her more than he’d realised.

‘So . . . are you sure?’ she said again.

‘Missy.’ Edd felt his heart expand into something much stronger, twice the muscle it was. He took her hand in both of his. ‘You have no idea how –’ 

He stopped, remembering the split-second of light before everything went black in that insurgents’ village, the blank misery of Headley Court, knowing his leg would never be there anymore, the hours and hours of counselling he’d had; and yet what he was about to say was no less true. 

‘You’ve no idea how much better my life has been since you’ve been in it,’ he said. 

She looked so dolefully, sweetly hopeful that his insides mushed into soup. 

‘You know me, I’m not exactly always an optimist.’ They both smiled, then. Understatement. ‘But I’ve become more of one because of you. You’re like constant bloody sunshine. Climate change made flesh.’

Her slow, sheepish smile. He would move mountains for it.

‘I know you’ve been having it a bit rough of late, but –’ he put a hand to her cheek. ‘You know I’ll always look after you. I’ve always got your back.’

She took in a light, tentative breath. ‘I feel safe knowing you’re there.’

‘Well, I don’t want to go anywhere.’

Her brown eyes settled, became warm. The confident Missy returning. ‘Shall we do it again?’

Christ. He was knackered, even though she’d been doing all the work on top of him and he’d just been sitting there holding her thighs. ‘If you want to,’ he said, valiantly.

‘No.’ A big, summery beam. ‘Ask me again.’

‘Oh.’ He couldn’t help feeling relieved. ‘Give me a sec.’ He got out of bed, picked up his crutches and went out to the corridor. Fetched the little box, and with his hands occupied, put it in his mouth. Classy.

When he came back into the bedroom, she was grinning and biting her lip, looking so tired and bloody glorious. He levered himself back down onto the bed, dropped the crutches, took the box out of his mouth. 

‘I’d go down on one knee, but –’ he gave a small smile. ‘You know.’ 

She smiled, put her hand on his amputated leg. ‘You’re perfect.’

He opened the box.

Inside was a small, silver ring, with a pale stone somewhere between turquoise and jade, a colour he knew she liked. Amazonite, because he’d joked a thousand times about her being an Amazonian warrior woman likely to eat him if he displeased her.

‘Missy Narth,’ he said. Took another big breath, and didn’t feel nervous any more. ‘Will you marry me?’

‘_Oui_,’ she said, and kissed him on his right cheek. ‘_Hai_,’ she said, kissing him on his left. ‘_Bale_.’ She kissed him on the forehead. ‘_Si, amore mio_.’

***

**Sansa**

There was nothing but this. This body-splitting pain, clenching her tight, feeling like she was breaking open. Nothing but her head, filled with the sound of her straining, of every bone and muscle and blood cell trying her hardest.

Nothing but her dad, there on the hospital bed, and his too-cold hand.

The shout she made seemed outside herself, the sound of the midwife, the nurse and Sandor blurring and distant.

A void. An emptiness. White light, every time she blinked.

The sound of a baby, crying.

***

**Robin**

‘Thank you so much,’ said Robin to Alice, as they tiptoed back to his room, Ivan now soundly asleep. Now he could finish making love to her, and hopefully make her –

_Click_. The unmistakable sound of the front door unlocking. Robin’s heart catapulted into his throat.

Thoros came in with the weekend bags. He looked up, knackered but cheery. ‘Alright, mate,’ he said. Caught sight of Alice. ‘Hello, there.’

‘What are you doing back?’ Robin said, with a rising sense of panic.

‘The retreat wasn’t really for your mum in the end,’ Thoros said. ‘The silent thing isn’t, you know . . .’ he shrugged and gave a benign grin. ‘Her thing.’

‘Ah,’ Lysa said, coming in behind Thoros. ‘Is everything OK? Did Ivan go down al–’ she stopped as she saw Alice, wearing Robin’s dressing gown. Her mouth fell open. 

Alice looked from Lysa to Robin and back again.

‘May I speak with you, please?’ Lysa said to Robin, in a hiss.

‘Lysa . . .’ said Thoros.

‘Not now,’ Lysa said, rather viciously, before sending another thunderous, very un-meditative look up the stairs. ‘Robin. Down here. This minute.’

He walked down the stairs, wearing only his boxer shorts and a faint sheen of fear.

Lysa looked like she was about to turn into a goshawk and rip him apart with her talons. ‘Explain yourself.’

‘I’ll just go,’ said Alice, very politely, at the top of the stairs.

This was it. He could be a mouse or –

‘No,’ Robin said to Alice, and faced his mother. ‘Mum.’ He took a fortifying breath and folded his arms. ‘I am seventeen years old in literally three days. I am a grown man now and if I want to have a girl – by which I mean a _woman_ – round, then I bloody well will. And this isn’t any woman but my girlfriend, Alice, and she is literally the best thing ever.’

Thoros, looking at the floor, gave a gently approving smile.

Lysa looked dumbfounded.

‘So we are going back to my room now, to sleep together in my bed,’ said Robin, feeling bolder than he ever had before, walking back up the stairs and taking Alice’s hand demonstratively. ‘Goodnight, Mum. Goodnight, Thoros.’

‘’Night, kid,’ said Thoros.

Lysa, for the first time this weekend, found that she could be silent after all.

***

**Arya**

MISSY:  
_So literally engaged rn xxx_

ARYA:  
_Holy FUCK_  
_Omg cute photo_  
_u trying to MAKE me throw up_  
_We all be wifies ✊🏼_  
_Pod says congrats_  
_at least I think he said that_  
_hard 2 tell with all the vomming_

MISSY:  
_Thank uuu xxx_  
_Poor bb Pod_

ARYA:  
_BABIES NEXT_  
_DEMS DA RULES_  
_lil bb with sad face and awesome hair_

MISSY:  
_1 thing at a time bae_  
_love u xxx_  
_any word from Sansa?_

ARYA:  
_I keep texting them literally every 5 secs_

MISSY:  
_fingers crossed_  
_u doin ok? xxx_

ARYA:  
_Starting to feel sick actually_  
_fuck_

***

**Sandor**

There. In his arms. 

‘Oh, goodness,’ said Cat, very softly, next to him. ‘You’re absolutely beautiful, aren’t you?’ 

Sansa was lying on the bed, her eyes red, looking anguished, relieved and slightly doped up. She’d already delivered the placenta. He looked at her, feeling the most profoundly painful love like a stab in the gut. 

Cat went over to Sansa, and kissed her gently on the cheek. ‘Well done, my love. I’m so proud of you.’

Sansa burst into tears. ‘Mum,’ she said.

‘I know, darling,’ said Cat putting her forehead against Sansa’s. ‘I know.’ They remained like that, mother and daughter, twinned in life, twinned in grief.

Sandor looked down again.

A trembling, whimpering thing with rosy cheeks. Long legs. A flash of dark red hair peeking out from the woollen hat. Opening one dark eye and fixing it vaguely upwards, into the air between them.

Hers. His. 

Theirs.

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, my comrades-in-fanfic-arms! I enjoy writing this nonsense because YOU keeping reading it :)
> 
> _Bale_ = ‘Yes’ in Farsi
> 
> _Hai_ = 'Yes' in Japanese


End file.
